


Vinewood Nights

by Torrin



Category: Grand Theft Auto IV: The Lost and Damned, Grand Theft Auto V, Grand Theft Auto: Vice City
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arson, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Motorclycles, Paleto Bay, Psychological Torture, Sons of Plunder MC, Torture, Whole cast of Original Characters, the lost mc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10073057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torrin/pseuds/Torrin
Summary: Los Santos, San Andreas isn't a very nice place. Blaine County is even worse. Only the truly insane and wicked make it big in this city, and only the hardcore survive it day to day by the skin of their teeth. The same goes for the Sons of Plunder Motorcycle Club, namely its Nomad charter. After their clubhouse in Del Perro is burned down, they must rebuild in Paleto Bay while fighting the Lost MC and maintaining a tentative truce with the Angels of Death back on the East Coast. Can they do it while fighting off angry bikers and rednecks, and manage to dodge the psychopath of Blaine County, Trevor Philips? And what about his self-loathing best friend, Michael? It's gonna be one helluva ride for this club.





	1. Too Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RGCDarkStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RGCDarkStar/gifts).



> This work is extremely experimental, and I'm not too sure how to go about it. If you find it to be satisfactory, please comment/leave kudos and I'll keep it going. If not, comment as well to let me know what went wrong.

Mandy Mercer woke up afraid, her baby-blue eyes scanning the surrounding room for any indication as to where she was. When her thoughts became less muddy, she realized that she was lying on top of Tommy Springfield, the President of the Sons of Plunder MC, Nomad charter. That much was normal, they'd been together since their Freshman year of high school. The tattered navy blue couch they were on was unfamiliar, as was the tiny living room.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he said, voice plagued with exhaustion.

"Good morning baby. You look like hell. What happened last night?" she asked as she popped the joints in her neck.

"You really don't remember? Shit. We were hit last night, the Nomad clubhouse, our clubhouse, was burned down. Arson. Fire got to the propane tanks and bikes. Shit lit up like the Fourth of July. And..."

"And what? What else happened?" she asked, trying the fight the tears welling in her eyes. The clubhouse. The last four years of their lives. Gone.

"Before we were hit, they grabbed Squid. Clubbed him with a pipe or somethin'. Tied him to their tow-truck and took off. Sick sons of bitches put one of those helmet cameras on him, filmed him being dragged around until he died. I found the tape on the clubhouse bar right before the fire started."

She was sobbing by the time his words softened into silence, the tears running from her eyes like tiny rivers. She sat upright, across his legs, and put her face into her hands in an effort to stop the crying. It was futile, and it only got worse by the minute. Tommy sat up, putting his hand across her back. He started rubbing small circles on her shoulder blades, trying to get her to calm down.

"Who killed our Vice President?" she asked.

" Not sure, hon. My guess would be the Lost MC. We have a treaty with the Angels of Death, at least we do back in Alderny. I have to reach out to our East coast charters, see if they've been hit too. Gotta call the Celtic Bastards too, make sure our sister club is okay. After that, I'll call in the Horsemen, see if we can buy some protection while we're in the Bay."

"Jesus." she echoed, "You've got a busy day. Look, last night, Tuesday said we could stay here as long as we need to. We're off the grid out here. There's a motel nearby that the guys can stay in, too."

"Yeah, okay. Tell her that the Nomads owe her big time. We'll pay her back sometime soon. Call the guys, get them up here. I want Bo, Royal, and the Prospect on their bikes, Dax and Brooke in a cage so they can pick Gwen up from school." he said as he got off the couch and started buttoning his discarded flannel, then shrugged into his kutte.

Before she could tell him yes or no, he left Tuesday's tiny apartment and made his way into the streets of Paleto Bay. There were no MC's for miles that he knew of, so the territory was safe. The Bay air was chilly, but the amount of green vegetation was a beautiful, welcoming sight. He exited the local apartment complex, South Seas Apartments, and took a good look around. His bike had been caught in the explosion, as had some of the guys' secondary rides. Before crashing last night, he had tracked down a man about half a mile from the bay selling an ancient Western Wolfsbane. The poor thing was rusted out, leaving the entire body a nice shade a patina brown, and it looked like it hadn't been started since the seventies.

The ad said he was selling it for five-grand, but he only had three in his wallet. Christ, between figuring out the next move for the Nomads and negotiating with an old codger about an antique bike, it was going to be a long day. While lost in his own thoughts, Tommy didn't notice the older man he just mowed down in his haste. After a mumbled shit, he helped the man to his feet.

"Fucking Hell, kid. Watch wear you're going. I don't rent a six-figure cabin three months a year in Paleto Bay of all places, only to be trampled by some mindless biker prick." he said.

Great, a fucking tourist. That explains the tacky Hawaiian shirt, Tommy thought.

"Sorry, man. I got a lot of shit going, got lost in my own head. Didn't even see you."

"I've been there before. You new to the Bay? Haven't seen you or your patch before."

"Yeah, kind of. San Andreas local, mainly East Los Santos. Tommy Springfield." he said, extending his right hand.

"I'm from Vice City myself. Helluva name you got, kid. Tommy Vercetti." the older man said, gripping Springfield's hand firmly. "Look, I gotta get moving. But, I like the look of you. You ever need any advice, or uh, extra work, you just come up to the cream colored house over there. It's mine."

And with that, the man identified as Tommy Vercetti walked off, gaining surprising speed for the slight limp of his left leg. The shit just kept piling up. Any more sudden surprises and he'd have to call the Mother Charter, see if they could spare any guys in this entire shit-show. He may even need to make a call to Ireland, get some of the Bastards out to the Bay. Goddamn it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Royal leaned back against his ragged couch, trying to mellow in the smoke-filled living room of his shitty apartment in Del Perro. The hands of an A.o.D sweetbutt caressed his kutte, trailing her slender, knobby fingers over the faded shamrock patch embroidered beneath his SA flash. He needed some escape from the fucked reality that was his life.

"You gonna get that, baby? Or do you wanna party some more?" she asked, hands twisting in his ponytail.

He swatted her hand away as he checked the caller ID. "Hey, sweetheart. How you holdin' up?" he asked.

"Not good, love. Shit's all upside down. Look, I can't chat too long, but I gotta catch you up. You, Bo, and the Prospect are supposed to head up on your bikes as soon as you can. Dax is getting Brooke and Gwen."

"Fuck me. Okay, gimme an hour to sober up a little. Me and some East Coast tart just smoked a little herb. I'll call the Prospect and the redneck. Look, tell Springfield that I think Bo is smoking crystal again. He's been going to Blaine County a lot, usually mentions something about his cousin and a farm. Gotta be the O'Neil place."

"Christ, okay. We're in South Seas Apartments. Ride safe, love."

He clicked the end call button and slipped his phone back into his kutte, left hand finding the backside of the woman next him. She shot him a grin that was anything but innocent as his slid her faded A.o.D shirt off her torso and drank in the club ink painted across her body. Life was a nut-punch right now, but at least he could settle some tension before the ride to the Bay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Buckle up, sweetie. Gotta make it to the Bay safe or your mommy and daddy will kill me." Dax said to the seven year old girl in the backseat of his Vigero.

She responded with a 'kay as she clicked the belt into place. He looked to see if Mandy's kid sister, Brooklyn, was buckled in. When she gave him an annoyed huff of breath, he cast his crooked smile at her and gunned it out of the school parking lot. He laughed a little as he reached for the radio dial, and pulled his hand back like he'd been burned when his fingers brushed against Brooke's. She looked up with a small, shy smile as he told her to pick a station. Instantly, the Pet Shop Boys' 'West End Girls' started playing, the song coming in halfway through the first verse.

"Ain't classic rock, but it'll work," he said in his natural, confident tone, "there's an interesting story behind this song."

"Well, we have a long drive ahead of us. Let's hear it." Brooke said, killing the volume a little. She looked behind her to find Gwen staring lazily out the car window.

"Back in the day, before your sister owned Club Pinup, she worked at the Unicorn downtown. 'Course, we all drank there because of her. Well, one day Tom decides to finally propose to her, see if she'll get his club ink. Squid's trying to talk him down, make it more special than a strip joint. Then, like it was on cue or somethin', this song comes on. Tom says 'I gotta do it now' and storms off like it's destiny or somethin'. Face is solid as stone the whole time. Looked like a total ass." he said, finding a little melancholy in his mention of Squid.

Brooke patted his hand, soft, sad smile barely gracing her subtle features. Dax, Squid, Royal, and Tommy had all gone to school together their whole lives in Del Perro, been friends since the day they were born. With the exception of Royal (due to his military enlistment) they all Prospected together for the Mother Charter in Blaine County. Tommy had been the one to first gain interest in the club, and had easily gotten them all to hang out at the gas station-turned clubhouse. And now, without Ryan "Squid" Calvin, he had no clue how he and his brothers would make it.

After making it through the Vinewood Hills, as to not draw attention because he was wearing his kutte proudly, Dax took the car left, guiding it through the country with ease as he kept an eye on his rear-view. The same shitty, rusted out Rebel had been following them since they passed Tequi-La-La. Either some redneck was making his way back home to the county, or they had business with the club. His eyes landed on a gas station on his right and he coasted into the parking lot, taking the car around the left side of the building. Just as he figured, the truck had followed them and was parked in front of the store.

"Brooke, you been seein' that truck behind us since uptown LS?" he asked, killing the radio.

"Yeah, I thought maybe they were going back to the Shores or something. Why? What's up?"

"I'm thinkin' they're here for me. Tom taught you how to drive stick, right?"

"Yeah, why? What're you-oh no! We aren't leaving you behind!"

"Yeah, kid, you are. You're gonna drive to the bay with Gwen, obey all the laws unless some other shithead fucks with you. I'm gonna jack that red 801, pop off a few rounds at them. Hopefully they'll follow me up into the county. If they don't, you call Royal and keep him on speaker. Make sure he comes after you." Dax said, shutting the door to the car.

He cast one final look at Brooke, then to the Nomad President's daughter. Her hair, the same shade of wheat-brown as Dax's, was tangled in her hands, her blue eyes shut tightly as she slept soundly. Brooklyn slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and eased the car from its parked position. Dax sat on the red crotch-rocket, which was so different from his Zombie Bobber, and tried to fire it up. Just as he had prayed, it purred to life as he drew his fifty-cal. pistol from his kutte and fired four rounds into the hood of the truck trying to follow Brooke.

"Come get me you incestuous, desert-humping, rat fucks!" he hollered, natural confidence still strong as he went full throttle towards Blaine County.


	2. See Some Old Friends, Good For the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys regroup at the Bay, but Dax doesn't make it. He's a little 'tied up' and is forced to make some other plans. When a member is faced with the grueling reality that he can either spill club secrets or most likely be killed, what will he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm from a very small, rural town with less than two-hundred people. So, if I seem hostile towards the people of Blaine County, don't take it to heart. It's merely how my characters feel of the county occupants.

"So, you're not anyone's Old Lady, but you've got the A.o.D skull tat on your hip?" Royal asked his female companion, Quinn Gallows.

"My dad is the Sgt. at Arms for a Mid-Western charter, has been since before I was born. I got the ink because I'm a Legacy."

"Holy hell. That's pretty fuckin' awesome. So, why're you all they way out here in shit-hole San-" he was cut off by the door to the apartment.

Tommy Springfield nearly tore the door off his hinges trying to get back into the apartment, only to find his SA on the couch, cuddled up to some sweetbutt. There were no signs indicating that the others were here, or that they had even rode together to the Bay. He had the prickling sense that Dax wasn't here either, which meant no Brooke or Gwen.

"Good to see you're still whole, brother." Royal said, taking in Springfield for a bone-crushing hug.

"Yeah, man. Glad you're good, and not off crackin' skulls 'cause of the fire. Look, where's everyone else?"

"Oh, shit, yeah. Bo and the Prospect took Mandy and some other chick to get food. Gotta watch Aston, though. Couldn't keep his eyes off her tits," he said with a chuckle, "shit, uh. This is Quinn Gallows. Found her staring at the ruins of our home. Her dad's the SA for an Angels charter."

"Nice to meet you darlin'. You guys can crash here for a while, then we'll get you set up in a motel with what's left of the club funds."

"Thanks, Pres. I dunno if Dax is gonna go for that, though. He loves living in the Vinewood Hills. Me, I've slept in worse places when I was overseas." Royal said.

Tommy wasn't sure if Royal was referring to his tour of duty in Kuwait, or the month they spent in Ireland, helping out the Bastards. Either way, he didn't like to think about it. He found himself staring the half-smile cut into Royal's right cheek, then at the remaining three fingers on his left hand. Nothing but bad memories clouded his mind as he gained the utmost desire for a cold beer.

As if on cue, Royal tucked his hands into the pockets if his kutte and turned his head to hide the scar. He tried not to think about it, but the memories were still very clear in his mind. Hard to forget how a few harsh words can lead to a combat knife sawing your fingers off, trying to get you to spill secrets so you have enough of a hand to still ride. It's also impossible to forget how much it hurts having your cheek sliced along the curve of your smile by a switchblade. The past would always be a rough reminder of how bad shit could go, and how quickly it would happen. All the bad shit would always be there, just like Royal's lack of fingers or his scar.

Quinn, sensing how heavy shit was getting in the room, stood up and waved her pack of smokes, sliding past Tommy on her way out. He grinned a little, reminded of how much she reminded him of Mandy his first few years with a patch. As Quinn pushed the door opened, she let a little "oh" escape her lips as she almost ran into Bo, Aston, Mandy, and a blonde who shared Mandy's blue eyes.

"Bo, Prospect. Good to see you guys. Thanks for keeping them safe for me. I can't express how much it means, considering how backwards shit is right now." Tommy said, patting each man on their shoulders.

"Ain't a need to say that, Hoss. You're our brother, they're our family. We're all we got, yeah?" Bo said, idly scratching at his cheek and lower jaw.

"Yeah, what this redneck asshole said. You guys are our family. We're always gonna be here for you. For them." the Prospect, Aston Hench, said.

Royal looked up at Springfield, who shared the same shit-eating grin as the latter, and said, "Shut up Prospect. Talk like that again, you'll probably grow tits, start dancing at Club Pinup."

"Oh, shit," Springfield interjected, "has anyone heard from Dax?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dax fought back the urge to groan as his vision tried to focus on something, anything. They'd tried to beat information out of him with both fists and knuckledusters. Of course, he wouldn't ever dare to spill club information, so they'd just have to kill him. And all that would do is piss off his brothers, get all the rednecks killed.

He didn't have a clue where he was, exactly, but he knew that it was somewhere outside of Sandy Shores. They had wrapped chains aroud his wrists and barely suspended him from the rafters so that his toes skimmed the dirt. All in all, it was horrendous. His ribs were bruised, nose broken, there were various cuts on his face, and it was possible that a few teeth were missing.

"Hey, shithead," an overall clad man said. He stood about six-foot-four and looked to weigh in at three-hundred pounds. "you're gonna love what we have for ya next."

Dax looked to the left to find the man grinning at him like he'd just won the lottery. In response, Dax spit blood into his face, leaving red specks in his beard. The man wiped the blood from his face and brutally grabbed Dax by his neck, forcing it to the right. He caught sight of a couple guys wheeling in a cutting torch. Its wheels squalled as it cut through the dirt, leaving a set of tracks across its path.

"Now, them's some nice tattoos you got. But this one," he said, tapping the battle ax on Dax's right arm. "well, I like this one. What's it say there? Forever loyal? Let's see if we can fix that."

His eyes widened a little as they sparked the torch to life. Dax could already feel the heat that was yearning to pull the ink from his flesh. The man behind the torch-Slim, Dax thought he heard someone call him that-waved it back and forth about a foot away from his skin. It began to redden flesh, leaving the beginnings of nasty blisters.

He screamed bloody-murder when the seering end of the torch made contact with his skin, instantly blackening everything it touched. The immense heat formed massive welts and blisters, and popped them as soon as they appeared. He screamed and yelled, but never once begged for mercy or asked them to stop, a sign of how true his former ink was.

Dax had heard the stories about Royal's trip in Ireland, how they cut off his fingers and permanently marred his face. And through it all, that tough bastard never turned on his brothers, never betrayed them. Perhaps that's why he looked up and took a line straight from Royal's response to losing his fingers.

"Pussies." he said, earning himself another slug to the face.

His head whipped violently to the left, sending his entire world spinning. He fought back the urge to spew chunks as his vision turned upside-down, then returned to normal. As he tried to focus on a way to escape, he caught a peek of another man who was wielding a cordless power sander. He found Dax's stare and gave the tool a quick rev of its motor, taunting the Son to say anything.

Before he knew it, they were forcing his forearm to stay still. The grit in the sandpaper tore through skin easily, effectively removing the tattoo he had of the club's patch-a skull with two crossed cutlasses behind it. He yelled out into the barn again, and tried to fight the tears forcing their way from his eyes. The man using the sander looked Dax in the eyes and fucking smiled as he cranked the power trigger harder, sending the man into a whole new world of pain. By the time they were done, Dax was breathing heavy as sweat fell from his broken body as he limply hung from his chains.

"Damn, boys, we got a tough one. Cousin Terry said a few of these boys were harder than stone, but shit. Look at me, kid," the one called Crawdad said, forcing Dax's chin up. "I'm gonna get my boy Creole to get some pliers, get to work on them pearly whites. See if that gets you to spill your guts about Bo Spencer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone was on edge, nerves running rampant as they waited for the Nomad VP and the children in his charge. Mandy, who was curled into Springfield's side on the couch, looked like she might puke. Quinn rubbed soothing circles on Royal's shoulders as he idly tapped his foot against the faded carpet. The Bo looked out the window, keeping an eye for any sign of Dax as his hands shook violently in his pockets. The Prospect offered Tuesday, Mandy's cousin, a glass of water, which she gratefully accepted with no audible reply.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, the crew heard the rumble of Dax's Vigero in the complex's parking lot. Bo rushed out the door only to find Brooke and Gwen leaving the car. Brooklyn had obviously been crying, but Gwen was sound asleep as her aunt carried her to the apartment. She sniffled as she reached the top of the staircase, eyes wide and streaked with red. At Bo's panicked reaction, everyone stood on the balcony in one big group.

"Holy shit, sweetheart. What happened? Why're you cryi-where's Dax?" Mandy asked, gently tugging her daughter from Brooke's arms even though her heart rate was jacked throguh the roof.

"I-I dunno. Some people from the county followed us all the way through Vinewood. Dax pulled over, took someone's bike. He fired at them, told me to get Gwen to the Bay safely. I haven't heard from him since." she said, ending on a sob.

Cries of "shit" and "son of a bitch" echoed in the still evening of Paleto Bay, as the Nomad President turned to his Sgt. at Arms. "Royal, we gotta find Dax, make sure he get's out alive. We've still gotta call Blake, tell her about Squid. I don't wanna call Dax's mom to tell her he's dead too."

"I know, brother. Another loss and this charter will cripple. We gotta get some more patches, 'cause we're about to lose another."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"Pretty sure he's using again," Royal said, cutting his gaze to Bo. "and if he is, we gotta vote him out. Sever him. At church tonight, we gotta vote in the Prospect. His terms almost up anyway. I'm a yea, I know you are too. And y'know Dax loves the little bastard."

Springfield looked to Brooke, the kid he'd known since she was four, and frowned. She loved Dax almost as much as she loved Mandy. He had to find his brother, keep his charter and his family whole. "I know, brother. Church, five minutes!"


End file.
